


Maneuver Negotiations

by waterofthemoon



Series: Unleash the Chaos (The FSU Jacket Zine) [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale is Good at Being an Angel (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Chaotic Good, Crowley is Good at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley's Orange Jacket (Good Omens), Flirting, Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Pre-Relationship, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29592669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/pseuds/waterofthemoon
Summary: Crowley gets Aziraphale involved in planning one of his capers, the carrying out of which means Aziraphale needs to wear a certain jacket. Aziraphale thinks he sees right through Crowley's schemes.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Unleash the Chaos (The FSU Jacket Zine) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174112
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35
Collections: Unleash The Chaos - Zine Fics and Art





	Maneuver Negotiations

**Author's Note:**

> This is my SFW fic for Unleash the Chaos, the zine dedicated to Crowley's FSU jacket! Being part of this chaos was a total blast - thanks so much to the mods and my fellow contributors! 💖

"If we're going with this plan, then you've got to put this on."

When Aziraphale looks up, Crowley's holding out a navy jacket with orange neon stripes. It's not his color at all. He stares Crowley down.

"Why?"

Crowley stares right back. "Camouflage," he retorts. "No one will question what you're doing there."

They exchange a few more seconds of furious, silent negotiation before Aziraphale is forced to concede the point. Crowley does have _slightly_ more experience in this area and might, perhaps, know what he's talking about.

"Yes, all right," he says. "Give it here."

Aziraphale snatches the proffered jacket from Crowley's hand and shrugs it on. It's no match for his wool and velvet, but he has to admit, it lends him a certain rakish charm. It balloons up in the back, a small pocket of air in dark blue nylon; he tugs on the bottom, trying to make it fall in the clean lines he prefers.

But the more he fusses, the more he just makes the whole "fit" issue worse. His hand slips across the smooth fabric and drags the jacket too far to one side, which makes it lie lopsided across his shoulders. Crowley watches him, one hand on his own hip, critical eyes sweeping over Aziraphale as he flounders.

"No, that's not—you've got it all—" Crowley makes a frustrated noise and stalks the necessary few steps closer to him. "Here, let me."

When Crowley reaches out to him, hands only slightly shaking, Aziraphale draws in a breath but otherwise stands as still as he can, waiting.

They don't usually touch like this; they haven't in centuries. Aziraphale's made a habit of it, because if he starts touching now, with the weight of their unlikely friendship behind it, he might not ever stop. But the closeness of the room, the way they bent their heads together over Crowley's plans, the intimacy of Crowley's delighted laugh when he explained his scheme—it's all culminating into him letting his guard down, just a little.

He feels exposed in Crowley's jacket, with just his shirtsleeves and bow tie beneath it. If he felt up to a flight of fancy, he might imagine that he could still smell Crowley, feel his warmth in the cool, slick fabric—and what's more, he likes it.

Crowley's hands on him are quick and deft as he straightens the fabric and arranges it just so on Aziraphale's shoulders. Aziraphale knows Crowley too well to not recognize certain things—to not catch the way Crowley's fingertips trail over him, to not feel the way Crowley wants to stay there and never leave. He recognizes them, because he feels exactly the same way.

Their gazes catch for a beat too long when Crowley's hands still. Crowley's mouth parts, and Aziraphale thinks for a moment that he might—they might—

Then Crowley jerks himself away, hands grazing over Aziraphale's arms in his wake. They slide over all that shiny fabric, and the sound of it rustling makes the quiet of the bookshop seem even more prominent.

"There you are. You've got to wear it like you mean it, mind," Crowley says. "The jacket. Like you obviously belong there, and no one better dare stop you from doing your job. It's all about _confidence_." He puffs up his chest in demonstration as he lectures. Aziraphale doesn't miss that he also takes two careful steps backward, away from him.

"Oh, is that how it's done?" Aziraphale asks, before his brain can catch up and stop him. "I thought I'd just flirt with whoever's in charge. Make a production of it, you know."

Crowley sputters and makes a sound that's all consonants. "That's—do not do that. Stick to the plan, please."

He's blushing now, a pink flush that creeps up his neck and takes residence in those high cheekbones. Aziraphale gives Crowley a once-over, remembers again why they avoid getting too close, and decides to take pity on him.

"Very well," he says. "I still think you ought to reconsider the part about having that street shut down."

"Oh?" Crowley says with a raised eyebrow.

"I should think so." Aziraphale feels a flush rising in his cheeks—this is hardly his area of expertise, after all—but nevertheless, he gestures at Crowley's notes.

The plan, such as it is, has been scribbled on a piece of old stationery Aziraphale had lying around and includes a crudely drawn map. Aziraphale knows that writing it down at all was purely for the benefit of explaining it to him. Crowley has the whole thing stored in that whirring, creative mind of his, backup plans and alternate routes included.

Even so, he also knows that nearly one hundred percent of Crowley's plans inevitably involve some form of "winging it," which is really an unfortunate phrasing when one considers certain aspects of his and Crowley's anatomy.

"You don't need it." Aziraphale points at one corner of the financial district in particular. When he moves his arm, the jacket makes a swishing sound from the fabric rubbing against itself, not entirely unpleasant. "Look, see, you can get the same effect by causing a temporary electricity short in that area, so that the banks are inconvenienced, but commuters can still get to work on time. There's no need to be cruel on top of demonic."

Crowley's other eyebrow shoots up, and his mouth drops open in a surprised grin. "Angel, have I ever told you what a diabolical genius you are?"

"Such language," Aziraphale chides. He looks back down at the map so he doesn't have to keep meeting Crowley's open, delighted face. "Honestly. I'm nothing of the sort. I'm _strategic_."

"Yeah, if you like." Crowley shrugs.

"And anyway," Aziraphale says, "this plan isn't even evil. Quite the opposite, I think. The goal is to change some computer records or other, yes?"

Crowley huffs. "Yeah, that's right. One of my specialties, isn't it?"

"To what end?" Aziraphale raises an eyebrow and waits Crowley out while he crosses his arms and grimaces, not meeting Aziraphale's eyes.

"'S not that big of a deal," he says. "Just canceling a few building projects, that's all. Then the guys in charge of them'll be confused and frustrated enough to take it out on the guys below them, and people who don't even want to be working there will lose their jobs, and it'll be a whole thing. Hell's gonna love it, just wait."

Based on what Crowley's told him about his employer, Aziraphale has his doubts about that, but he decides to keep them to himself. He presses Crowley again instead. "And?"

"And what?"

Aziraphale lets a smug smile cross his face. "I happen to know that if those projects _don't_ go through, a homeless shelter and a youth center also bid on the properties. I'm very certain their proposals will go through, as a matter of fact."

"I don't know anything about that," Crowley says.

"Of course not, dear." Then Aziraphale, despite what he's told himself and without letting himself think about it too much, reaches out to pat Crowley on the arm.

It's just a placating touch, but Crowley's eyes widen, and his cheeks turn a brilliant scarlet. Aziraphale feels his own face heating up and quickly withdraws his hand.

Crowley coughs and returns to the map, but his eyes keep flitting between it and Aziraphale. "We're agreed, then?" he asks. "I'll handle the electricals with my team; you just distract anyone trying to get in the way, and then we'll meet up for the second phase. Technical work like that is awfully delicate."

Aziraphale's about to acquiesce, but the pull of the jacket around his shoulders stops him. "Actually," he says.

Crowley sighs. "What is it? Don't tell me you're backing out."

"Of course not," Aziraphale says. "I was just thinking… well, I'm the one wearing the work jacket, aren't I?"

"Yes? And?"

Aziraphale shifts position in his chair and then has to readjust the jacket when it gets caught up behind him. Before he can, though, Crowley leans in and does it for him, hands smoothing over his shoulders. The blush rises in Aziraphale's cheeks again.

"It makes more sense if we go the other way round, don't you think?" Aziraphale moves a little closer, just enough to push into Crowley's touch. "I'll handle the fiddly electricals; I'm more than capable of it." He smiles. "You be the honeypot."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! You can find me on Tumblr as [@waterofthemoon](https://waterofthemoon.tumblr.com).


End file.
